Fragile Existence
by Shy PolarBear
Summary: Draco's mind is a very fragile thing. Draco's POV, Drarry-ish. Please  R&R! Written under the influence of Evanescence song My Immortal.


Please review as well as read, I need to know if what I'm doing is good, bad, worth it, rubbish, etc. Please, no flames though! Enjoy~! :)

* * *

><p>He'd fake it. Every smile, every laugh, every moment. He didn't want to be there, God, he didn't want to be <em>anywhere<em>. He simply wanted to fade away; be dragged from the pathetic existence, void of meaning. He yearned for the feeling to leave him, yearned for it to leave him to drown in his grief, yet he knew that even if it were to depart, its all-consuming presence would remain evermore.

Days turned to months, and time traipsed on, yet the scars enclosing his entirety would remain; he knew. Nothing could erase the recollections of the past, the pain and betrayal lingering. He knew. He knew so much; too much. Time could never erase the demons of his past; circulating, waiting to re-emerge and drag him down the path of true destruction.

Through his foggy mind he recollected a memory so clear and sharp he struggled to differentiate it from his present being. The bathroom, the mirrors, the tears. God the tears. They stung, leaving shimmering rivers of emotion he could never himself express, _would _never express. Blinding rage at the path fate had bestowed him, depression and confusion from the things he'd been forced to see, regret for the choices he should never have had to make.

But predominately, it was betrayal; betrayal from the sole entity that was meant to protect him, nurture him, allow him to prosper in life. The same entity which had laid a path to Hell within his very home; laid a plate for Lucifer himself. The same _man_ which threw his one and only son into an unforgiving war set in motion far before his time. It was a betrayal which tore his already fragile heart.

That night he screamed, crystal paths painting his cheeks, a lifeless illusion of a hand rubbing gentle circles on his back; whispering soothing lexis into his ears. Those words fell on deaf ears, too far gone he was, feeling s spiralling out of his control, out of his reach. His body and soul were corrupted, his heart destroyed long ago.

And then he appeared, his presence bearing a light so beautiful, so majestic, the boy clutching the basin with trembling hands felt his meagre coexistence somehow tainted it. He tried to keep his mask in check, fought off his growing desire to beg and plead with the man to help, ask for forgiveness for the sins staining his soul, but he couldn't.

His facade held, and he attacked in an animalistic manner. His unchecked emotions misdirected at the one person able to make him feel even the smallest trace of a human being. He could feel his heart shattering.

Even as his blood seeped from the wounds of that tragic hex, he wept. Not from the excruciating pain swelling his body, but for the bitter irony of it all. All his years knowing this man, the exact man leaning over him, crying furiously for help to stop the bleeding he had caused, he merely wanted to destroy him, watch him fall. Now, even as he felt his weakened body begin to shut down, he wished for nothing more than his success and victory; wished to see a smile, a true, genuine smile, cross his angelic features and never leave it. He wished for a day he believed he would never live to see.

Darkness engulfed him.

Within his numb delirium, images splayed, tormenting him, _crushing _him. How could he ever have allowed himself to be used, abused; tossed aside like unmentionable filth? Answers evaded his grasp. It was unfathomable that the boy, scarcely beyond the threshold of schooling, could have blood staining his soul in such a form that could never be washed away. His misery began synchronising with his mournful heartbeat to prelude a sorrowful melody. How he ached. His heart was in dire need of mending, he knew, yet he could not believe there was an antidote in existence able to dull the pain.

He felt pressure on his being, glancing to the sorrowful man beside him, begging, pleading for forgiveness. Emerald gems shedding pure tears. This man would be given everything he asked for, the boy knew that, knew he would give him anything his heart desired. The ethereal aura enshrouding him led rivulets to trace the boy's cheeks. Retribution for his crimes would be presented at his final judgement, yet this boy would remain unscathed, continuing his fight freedom, for a future written in the stars. A future the boy wished so very much he could see. Retribution would surely always elude him.

He wept at his encroaching insanity, yet perhaps, perhaps with that man at his side...perhaps there was hope?


End file.
